


Conspire to Ignite

by Tangela



Series: It's Ineffable [7]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Discreet Gentlemen's Club (Good Omens), Disguise, First Kiss, First Time, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Other, Pining, Smut, mostly Crowley's PoV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-12-28 11:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21135614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangela/pseuds/Tangela
Summary: They had had their falling out, and Crowley had slept off the rest of the century. Or at least, he'd tried to. Perhaps it was time he visited one of those discreet gentlemen's clubs that Aziraphale had always been trying to invite him to.A short story of longing, miscommunication and an eventual happily ever after.(Or, an alternate take on what happened between 1862 and 1941.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this idea for months now, and I'm so glad to finally get posting it. I'm sure it's nothing new at this point, but I do still hope it's okay. I'm sick as hell with no beta reader, so please forgive any mistakes. Enjoy!

The story that Crowley told was that he had slept for half a century, like a princess in a fairy tale. Now this wasn’t strictly true, but only he and Aziraphale were to know that.

They had had their falling out, and after they’d all but spat their goodbyes and parted ways, Crowley had no idea what to do with himself. Downstairs was giving him a sabbatical of sorts for all of his bad deeds, and he hadn’t realised until then just how much of his time was taken up with Aziraphale. He felt lost on his own, and he hated it. He couldn’t bear to sit around thinking about what had been said and done, and he couldn’t bring himself to apologise when he knew that he hadn’t done anything wrong. Surely he was allowed to ask for insurance, and Aziraphale had no right to deny him of that. If everything went horribly wrong, he wanted to end things on his own terms. He felt that it was the very least he deserved.

Of course, as it so often happened, when he wanted sleep, it wouldn’t come to him easily. He tossed and turned for a few years before he finally gave up and dragged himself out of bed. He pulled on his dressing gown and unceremoniously dropped into the armchair by the bed.

“Well, I’m up now. Happy?” he grumbled to no one.

He tried to find something to do, anything to help himself back to sleep. He even tried reading, but that was a wasted effort once he remembered that the book had been a gift from...Well, it didn’t matter.

He eventually came to the conclusion that he wasn’t getting back to sleep anytime soon, at least not moping around his room, so he dressed himself and headed out. Surely a walk would help.

He had woken up at that strange time of day when the daytime crowd were cozied up in their beds, and the nighttime crowd had just stepped out for the evening. The shops were shut up tight ‘til morning, and the pubs and taverns were full of life. Crowley glanced into each one as he passed. Just to look. He wasn’t looking for anyone in particular. Not in the slightest.

He kept walking, and then after a time found himself stopping for no reason. It wasn’t until he looked up that he realised his feet hadn’t just been treading a random path. He had stopped in front of one of London’s best and worst kept secrets – a discreet gentlemen’s club. One of the very same clubs that...Well, he knew someone who frequented there. He’d been invited on a number of occasions too, but he’d always declined. Far too easy to tempt a room full of horny men, he thought.

“I think they’d like you,” Aziraphale had said, with a particular look that he seemed to be reserved for Crowley. “All that fiery hair and equally fiery wit. You’d feel right at home.”

To which Crowley had responded by telling him to shut up, but he’d silently decided against cutting his hair for the foreseeable future from then on.

Crowley stood outside the unassuming building, hidden in the shadows as he weighed up his options. He could go in, most likely find who he was clearly looking for whether he wanted to admit it to himself or not...And then what? Apologise? No, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Demand an apology in return? He’d be laughed at. Then, what? Put it aside, pretend it never happened?

He watched as the occasional man came and went, and as the hour grew later and the air only colder, eventually made up his mind. He slipped inside, making sure that no one noticed him. Not that anyone would be able to find themselves able to stop him, of course.

Now he was well aware by this point that Aziraphale was a fan of the more lavish lifestyle, but this place was practically demonic in its decadence. Plush chairs and sofas were scattered throughout the room, heavy velvet drapes cut off whatever light - and more importantly, prying eyes - that may have peeked in from the street, beautiful tapestries adorned the walls, and a gold-gilded mirror hung above a large fireplace. The fire crackled and danced merrily, casting a soft glow over the room’s occupants, whose state of dress seemed to depend on how much was still in their glasses, and the ruddiness of their cheeks. These were all men of good standing, well-dressed if not all handsome, and with money burning through the linings of their well-tailored smoking jackets.

The next thing that caught Crowley’s eye as he looked around were the masks. Every face in the room was adorned with a delicate eye mask, such as one might wear to a masquerade. Crowley suspected it was to protect the identities of the club’s patrons. Clever thing, that.

He stayed out of view, or as best he could. He was already attracting a few looks, and he knew exactly what kinds of looks they were. It wouldn’t take him any effort at all to tempt each and every one of these men, and he couldn’t help but feel a little proud of that. Still, that wasn’t what he was here for. Just a quick look around and he’d be gone.

“Are you lost?” came a voice from behind him.

Not many people could sneak up on Crowley, but he’d been so focused on finding...Well, looking around, that he’d quite forgotten himself. He turned around to find a tall, well-dressed man, around the same age that his vessel presented as.

He was rather handsome in a traditional sort of way, with thick, combed back hair and a moustache that curled at the edges. Much of his upper face was hidden by a silver mask.

“No, just...”

“Having a browse?” the man prompted.

Crowley smiled thinly. “Something like that.”

“You’re new here, aren’t you? Perhaps I could show you around?” the man asked.

His intentions seemed mostly pure, but Crowley could sense the desire underneath those kind words.

“No, I’m fine, I-“

And there he was. Dressed handsomely as always, his eyes hidden behind a beautiful ivory mask, but Crowley would have known that smile anywhere. He was cozied up on a green velvet sofa in a corner of the room, a man sitting by his side with a look of utter adoration on his face, and another practically halfway into his lap.

“I found what I came for. Excuse me.”

Crowley was out of there in heartbeat. It shouldn’t have bothered him so much. Really, what Aziraphale wanted to do in his own free time was up to him and no one else. That didn’t stop Crowley from cursing him the whole way home.

_How dare he. How dare he be out having fun while I’m miserable._

But then, what did he expect? That Aziraphale would fall into a self-pitying sleep alongside him? He _had_ said he had other people, people to fraternise with. And there was the very proof of it. Of course, Crowley had said the very same thing, but he’d been lying. And deep down, he’d hoped that Aziraphale had been too.

Well, that settled it, didn’t it? He was very happy without Crowley around to muck things up, and Crowley was quite content to sleep off the rest of this century, thank you very much. It was turning out to be as bad as the 14th.

He undressed, dropping his clothing unceremoniously to the floor, and climbed back into bed. He didn’t cry, rather he seethed, eventually falling into a fitful sleep.

\---

It didn’t take long for word of the red-haired man to spread around the club. Aziraphale felt something unpleasant in the pit of his stomach as Henry, the young man by his side, passed the news on to him.

“Didn’t you see him?” Henry asked. “He was dressed all in black, with long red hair. He had the strangest mask too, like dark sunglasses.

Aziraphale smiled pleasantly, as if the rug hadn’t just been pulled out from underneath him.

“Really, dear?” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. “How interesting.”

\---

Aziraphale knew he shouldn’t have been there. It might not even have been Crowley. It could have been any number of men.

_And red is ever such a common hair colour, isn’t it? Be serious,_ he scolded himself.

He stood at Crowley’s door, hand hovering over the wood for an indeterminable amount of time. He hadn’t thought this through at all. What was he supposed to say? He knew that Crowley would be expecting an apology, and that was the one thing he couldn’t give him.

Crowley had had no right to ask that of him. To make Aziraphale complicit in what he might have done to himself. But he knew first-hand just how stubborn Crowley was, so it was hardly like _he_ was going to apologise, was it?

But then, why had he even been at the club in the first place?

There was nothing to be gained from this visit but another argument, Aziraphale told himself, and with a sigh, he forced himself to go home.

\---

For the briefest moment, Crowley lifted from his sleep to the smell of something familiar.


	2. Chapter 2

Another month or so of tossing and turning and fighting with himself passed before Crowley gave up and got out of bed again. Something had to be done. But what? He wasn’t going to apologise. Nothing had changed.

But he knew that Aziraphale had been outside his door that night. He also knew all too well that if he had come for a fight, the Devil Himself wouldn’t have been able to stop him. So what was it, then?

Perhaps Aziraphale missed him. Crowley was certainly starting to miss him, all past arguments aside.

Then he had an idea. He wiled away the hours until evening came, then dressed himself and headed out. This time with a black mask in hand.

\--

Of course, Crowley knew that he was taking a risk by returning here, when really he couldn’t know for certain whether Aziraphale would even be here or not. And it certainly seemed that way for the first hour or so. The angel was nowhere to be found, and beyond checking the rooms reserved for more private matters, Crowley had looked everywhere. Not without garnering a good amount of attention in the process. He could make that go away with little more than a wave of his hand, but sometimes he had to be honest with himself and admit that he could be quite fond of the admiration of others at times. At that moment, a young man named Edward had had his ear for the better part of twenty minutes as he showed him around.

“Are you here for anything in particular?” he asked, and even through the mask, Crowley could see the look he was being given.

“Oh, just a quick temptation,” he replied with a smile that seemed to make the other man weak at the knees.

Crowley knew that Edward was talking to him, but all of his attention was now trained on the other side of the room. Aziraphale was standing by the fire, with a half-empty glass in his hand and a group of men surrounding him. Whatever he was saying must have been interesting, as they looked as though they were hanging on to his every word.

Crowley ran his tongue along his teeth impatiently. He couldn’t make a scene, he’d never hear the end of it.

“I see I’ve already lost you to Mr. Fell,” Edward said with a sigh. “You wouldn’t be the first, and you shan’t be the last, I imagine.”

Crowley was suddenly all ears. “Mr. Fell?” he asked, feigning an air of boredom. “You mean the man in all the ivory?”

“The very same,” Edward replied. “I could introduce you, if you’d like.”

Crowley shook his head as he turned his attention back to the man at his side. “It’s fine, really. Besides, he looks busy.”

_What was the point in all this if you’re going to get cold feet?_

Another time. There would be another time. Really, he hadn’t thought this through at all and-

“Mr. Fell!” Edward was already calling, waving a hand.

Crowley didn’t dare look, far too close to the edge of panic as he was.

“Yes, dear?” came an all too familiar voice in reply.

“I have a friend who’d like to meet you. This is- Oh, I don’t believe you gave me your name-”

Crowley took a deep breath as he turned to face Aziraphale. Even through the mask, he could see his eyes widen.

“Anthony,” Crowley said with a tight smile.

“Anthony,” Aziraphale echoed, as pleasant as ever. “What a lovely name.”

He held out his hand, prompting Crowley to take it. Crowley complied, shaking his hand firmly.

“A pleasure to meet you, Anthony. I’m Ernest.”

“Like the Wilde play,” Crowley commented.

Aziraphale smiled. “Yes, exactly. My, what a strong grip you have.”

Crowley promptly let go.

“Could I tempt you to a drink?” he asked.

“That’d be lovely,” Aziraphale replied, before turning his attention to Edward. “You don’t mind, do you, dear?”

Edward looked as though he very much did mind, but he smiled pleasantly and shook his head.

Aziraphale led Crowley by the arm to an empty sofa, leaving him for a moment to fix them both drinks. Crowley sat down, watching him. This was ridiculous, that neither of them could just admit who they were. As if it wasn’t painfully obvious. But Aziraphale was just as stubborn as he was, and neither of them were prepared to back down. Crowley wasn’t ashamed to admit that he missed spending time with the angel, and so really, this was the only logical way to go about it. Well, perhaps ‘logical’ wasn’t quite the right word, but it was the only plan that Crowley had.

Aziraphale handed him a glass of wine before settling himself on the opposite side of the sofa. It was quite a small thing, and with Crowley’s long limbs, their knees touched often, and there seemed no getting around it. Not that either of them seemed to mind.

“What is it that you do for a living, Anthony?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley couldn’t help but notice how Aziraphale rolled the syllables of his adopted name around his tongue, as if tasting it.

“Oh, a little of everything. Jack of all trades, me,” he said casually.

“‘But master of none’,” Aziraphale quipped, and his smile was almost wicked.

Crowley cleared his throat, making a point to bump against Aziraphale’s leg with his own.

“And what about you, Ernest?” he asked, taking the same care to drag the word out with a slight hiss.

“I run my own business,” Aziraphale replied vaguely as he took a drink.

“Is that right? Must be doing well, for you to afford to come here as much as you do,” Crowley said, realising his slip-up much too late.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “But we’ve only just met, dear boy. How ever would you know that?”

“Well, you know, you seem so...well-liked here,” Crowley fumbled.

It seemed to satisfy Aziraphale, however.

“You think so?” he asked coyly.

“Oh, yeah,” Crowley replied immediately.

He wondered if Ernest liked to be praised as much as his dear old angel friend. He leaned in, just close enough for it to still be considered friendly.

“See how they all look at you,” he murmured, voice soft in Aziraphale’s ear. “How they all want your attention. Like you’re a prize to be won.”

Aziraphale huffed a laugh, and Crowley chanced a look at him. The tips of his ears had gone pink.

“You have quite a way with words, dear,” he replied with a smile, glancing quickly over at Crowley.

Crowley just returned the smile, and settled himself back against the cushions again.

“It’s true,” was all he said.

And it was. Crowley would have to have been blind not to notice the eyes on Aziraphale. On him too. They’d barely been sitting together for more than a few minutes and they were already the talk of the room.

“Are you sure that it’s me you should be talking about? You seem to have attracted quite a bit of attention yourself.”

Crowley waved a hand dismissively. “It’s because I’m new.”

Aziraphale was not to be deterred.

“Really, dear. They haven’t been able to take their eyes off you. And rightly so. You’re quite striking.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with me,” Crowley remarked with a small smile. 

His smile only widened when Aziraphale consigned himself to taking a long drink and finishing his glass.

“Not that I would be complaining, mind you,” he dared to add.

Aziraphale eyes widened beneath his mask.

“You wouldn’t,” he murmured.

It wasn’t a question.

“Not at all.”

There was a stretch of silence between them for a moment, as if both of them were figuring out what to do next.

“I’ll, um, just go and fill this up again. I’d offer you another, but you don’t seem to be-“

Crowley quickly knocked back the rest of his drink with a faint grimace before holding his glass out.

“-finished,” Aziraphale said. “Oh. Right. Same again?”

“Same again,” Crowley replied, making a show of licking a drop of wine from his mouth.

He’d never seen Aziraphale move so fast in his life.

—

As was true of most things, Crowley found the evening to be moving along much easier once he and Aziraphale had polished off a few more glasses of wine. Now the challenge was to keep himself from slipping up. The truth tended to spill from Crowley like a river whenever alcohol was involved.

Aziraphale wasn’t exactly faring any better at this point. Neither of them had let go of their monikers, nor had they removed their masks, but if a stranger happened a glance at the two of them, he’d think that they’d been friends for years. They hardly looked as though they’d only just met that evening.

“Why do you come here?” Crowley dared to ask after a brief lull in conversation.

Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if unsure on how to answer.

“What makes you ask that?” he asked after a time.

Crowley shrugged, trying to act casual. “Just wondering.”

Aziraphale toyed with his glass, suddenly very interested in the contents of it. “I, um- Well, I suppose I enjoy the company.”

“Of other men?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale blanched.

“In a…manner of speaking, yes,” he replied.

Crowley could tell that he was uncomfortable, and he had to admit, he was rather enjoying being the cause of it.

“What about you, dear?” Aziraphale asked, quickly rounding on Crowley in an attempt to change the subject. “What brings you here?”

“Dunno, really,” Crowley replied, with another shrug. “Curiosity, I suppose.”

“Really.”

It wasn’t a question, but Crowley felt compelled to answer anyway.

“Loneliness, maybe,” he murmured, taking a swift drink to occupy his mouth before it said anything else against his will.

“It’s a terrible thing, isn’t it? Loneliness,” Aziraphale said softly.

Crowley chanced a look at him. He could tell that Aziraphale’s eyes were on him, and Crowley felt the urge to lean over and kiss him. Not for the first time that evening, and certainly not for the first time since they’d met. He didn’t dare say anything, for fear of what might come tumbling out.

“Look around this room. It’s full of loneliness,” Aziraphale continued, gesturing with a hand.

Crowley looked, and the angel was right. Behind the smiles and laughter was a bitter feeling of isolation, of loneliness, of desperation for some form of companionship.

“That’s why they all come here. To be happy for a while, before going back out to live a lie again.”

And Someone, did Crowley know what that felt like. Sneaking around behind the backs of the Powers That Be and hoping against hope that he’d never be caught. All for a little companionship. It was exhausting.

He turned to Aziraphale.

“Look, Az-”

“Why don’t you and I find somewhere a little quieter, hm?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley’s mouth hung open for a moment as he tried to figure out the right thing to say. Eventually he just nodded. Aziraphale stood up, holding out his hand. Without a word, Crowley took it, letting Aziraphale lead him to a private room.


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley knew that he had almost messed up. He had told himself he wasn’t going to apologise. But it was the same every time. One look at Aziraphale and he wanted to give him the moon and stars from the sky. And now, as they disappeared down the long hallway together, away from prying eyes and with Aziraphale’s warm hand holding his, there was nowhere else he would rather be.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, the noise from the main room disappeared and they were plunged into silence. Crowley’s pulse was so loud in his ears, he wondered if Aziraphale could hear it too.

_But maybe this is a bad idea_, his anxiety chimed in, _I knew it was from the very beginning_-

“Are you alright, dear?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley nodded, a little too fast. “‘Course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You look like a frightened animal for one thing, and you’ve gone awfully quiet for another.”

Aziraphale took a few careful steps closer.

“I didn’t read the situation wrong, did I?”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘situation’,” Crowley replied, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper.

Aziraphale stopped in front of him.

“Tell me that I didn’t read it wrong,” Aziraphale whispered, his breath a soft breeze against Crowley’s skin.

“This is all because you think I’m lonely,” Crowley murmured.

He had no idea when he’d started trembling, but he wished to Whoever that it would stop.

“It’s because I like you, darling,” Aziraphale replied with a kind smile. “You really are rather handsome. And besides, I think we both could do with a friend, don’t you?”

It wasn’t an apology, but Crowley would gladly take it, whatever it was. He leaned in closer, running a thumb along the edge of Aziraphale’s mask. Aziraphale’s hand rose to gently touch his wrist.

“Once you take off the mask, _Anthony_, there’s no turning back,” Aziraphale all but whispered.

Crowley could see his eyes watching him intently behind his mask. The way he’d said his false name, there was more to it under the surface – a warning.

“Things don’t have to change,” Crowley replied, “This is just something between Anthony and Ernest. Their own private thing,”

_I’m not ready to talk about it either_ was what he really meant.

“They don’t have to change at all, do they?” Aziraphale asked, but somehow it didn’t seem like a question.

_I’ve missed you _was what Crowley heard him say.

Crowley reached up, taking the ribbon that held the mask on Aziraphale’s face in hand. With the slightest pull, the knot gave way, and the mask slipped into Crowley’s waiting hands.

Aziraphale shied under his gaze, now that he was exposed. Crowley removed his own mask as well, setting them both aside.

“It’s good to finally see your face,” Aziraphale murmured, and his eyes seemed to glimmer in the dim light.

Crowley knew that there was far more weight in Aziraphale’s words than just a simple compliment. He took Aziraphale’s hand in his own, bringing it up to his mouth.

“Yours too,” he said, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of Aziraphale’s hand. “You’re almost angelic.”

“Almost?” Aziraphale teased, his mouth quirking into a small smile.

He quickly changed his tune as Crowley’s hand slid down to his wrist, squeezing slightly as he stepped forward, desire overtaking his worry. Aziraphale took a step back, and Crowley stepped forward again, and again, until, with a muffled _thump_ and a soft gasp, Aziraphale found himself backed against the wall.

“That’s hardly the behaviour of a gentleman, now, is it?” he asked. His tone was chastising, but he still sounded somewhat breathless.

“When did I ever lead you to believe that I was a gentleman?” Crowley countered, leaning in close enough to hear Aziraphale’s breath hitch.

They were so close now. They’d been close so many times in the past, but something had always gotten in the way. Not this time.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Crowley knew that they should talk, make things right. But what if that only led to _another _argument? What, then? Would that be the one to ruin it all?

“Anthony?” Aziraphale prompted. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

And that was all the answer Crowley needed.

He knew that things would go back to normal eventually. He trusted Aziraphale. But for now, Anthony and Ernest had unfinished business. And what kind of demon would that make him if he were to deny them that?

He pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s mouth, so soft at first, as if he were afraid that the angel would break. And then Aziraphale was kissing him back, soft hands in his hair, gently pulling him closer. Crowley went all too willingly, would have done so centuries ago if Aziraphale had only asked.

But then, this wasn’t about them tonight, was it? They weren’t a demon and an angel, they weren’t on opposing sides, overseen by beings far more powerful than any human could ever imagine. No, tonight they were two men. Two very normal, human men, with very human desires, who had gotten drunk and flirted and found an empty room to be alone together.

One day, they were going to do this right. No false names. No pretences.

But for now, as Aziraphale’s hands began to move down to unbutton Crowley’s waistcoat, he’d take whatever he was given.

He stepped back slightly, just enough to give Aziraphale room to undo the last button he was currently fumbling with. He could all too easily just snap his fingers, rid them both of their clothes in a breath, but that was hardly something that humans were able to do. Besides, the very notion of having to work for it, to carefully peel back all those layers, to find what he had wanted for so long underneath... Crowley could definitely see the appeal in it.

He let his waistcoat slip off his shoulders to the floor, reaching up to help Aziraphale with his own. He didn’t need to be able to see his face to know that he was blushing, Crowley could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

Not that Crowley was much better. He’d been dreaming about this day for centuries, hoping to Someone that one day Aziraphale would crack and tell him that he wanted it too. He never thought it would actually ever _happen,_ much less under false pretences in a gentlemen’s club. Not that Crowley was complaining. Whatever way it happened didn’t matter, as long as it was with Aziraphale.

Crowley tried to help him with his shirt, but Aziraphale batted his hands away lightly.

“Let me,” he murmured.

Crowley just nodded, throat suddenly dry. He stepped back, just enough to give Aziraphale room. Aziraphale tugged his cravat free from around his neck, letting it drop to the floor, before starting work on the buttons of his shirt. He worked methodically, to the point where it was beginning to drive Crowley mad. He had never been the most patient. And by the smile pulling at Aziraphale’s mouth, Crowley knew that he was deliberately dragging this out.

Finally, _finally_, Aziraphale let his shirt slip from his shoulders, and that was about all Crowley could stand. He moved in to kiss him again, harder this time, as if his very existence depended on it. Aziraphale’s arms were around his neck as Crowley’s slipped around his waist, both of them holding the other tight, as if they were scared to lose each other.

Crowley couldn’t bear the thought of losing Aziraphale. Not again.

He eventually forced himself to break the kiss, leaning his forehead against Aziraphale’s. The angel’s quick little breaths were warm against his face, and he was torn between the need to stay like this, just as they were, for as long as possible, and the overwhelming want to do something about this itch that he’d for the last five or so thousand years.

And then Crowley was slipping from Aziraphale’s arms and dropping to his knees in front of him.

Aziraphale made a sound, and if Crowley didn’t know any better, he’d say that it was his turn to almost slip up. To burst the little bubble they’d spent all evening creating.

He made a soft shushing sound as he looked up.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Aziraphale nodded, that shaky little nod when Crowley asked him a difficult question. _Someone_, he’d missed him.

“Quite alright, dear,” Aziraphale replied, with the equally shaky laugh that always followed. “It’s just-“

He sighed, and Crowley sat back, making himself comfortable for a moment. He’d waited this long. He could wait a little longer, to make sure that Aziraphale was ready.

“Well, it’s just- This isn’t something that I go around doing, you know- Perhaps you don’t-“

All of Aziraphale’s previous bravado seemed to have flown right out the window in a heartbeat. They really were made for each other, it seemed.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “And just what, my dear Ernest, is that supposed to mean?” he asked, and he couldn’t help the sly smile creeping onto his face.

“Well, look at you!” Aziraphale said, gesturing to Crowley. “All that- That wit and charm, surely you’ve had any number of people to warm your bed-“

Crowley’s eyebrow only raised higher.

“Have I now?”

He couldn’t hide how much he was starting to enjoy this. He was a demon, after all.

“Not that- Not that there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just-“

He could see Aziraphale working himself up into a state, and as much as he normally enjoyed encouraging it, he knew he should stop before it ruined everything.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

And just like that, Aziraphale shut up.

“While I appreciate the compliment, this isn’t something I’ve done much of either.”

He placed his hands on Aziraphale’s thighs, in a manner closer to comfort than suggestion.

“Relax, okay? Let me make you feel good.”

Aziraphale managed a nod, and Crowley turned his attention to undoing Aziraphale’s trousers, removing the last of his layers and taking him into his mouth.

Aziraphale inhaled sharply, and Crowley stopped for a moment, letting him adjust. And then the breath came back out, and Crowley started to move, keeping a steady pace, his hands back on Aziraphale’s thighs.

Aziraphale grabbed at Crowley’s hair, before seeming to come to his senses and letting go. Without pulling back, Crowley reached for his hand and put it back.

“Are you sure, dear?” Aziraphale asked.

And really, only he could get away with calling someone dear in the middle of what they were doing.

Crowley hummed his affirmation, and Aziraphale shuddered, his fingers instinctively flexing and pulling at Crowley’s hair.

Now Crowley wasn’t lying when he said that he didn’t have all that much experience in this sort of thing. But that didn’t mean he’d been against doing a little experimenting of his own. He’d figured the hair thing out entirely by accident.

Crowley hummed again, enjoying the little gasps and sighs he was pulling from Aziraphale.

Cr- Anthony,” Aziraphale gasped, and heat pooled in Crowley’s stomach.

Even just the sound of a name he made up was enough to drive him insane. He hoped to Someone that it would be his own falling from Aziraphale’s lips someday.

Aziraphale fisted his hand into Crowley’s unruly hair, pulling him back.

“If you don’t mind,” he started, and Crowley couldn’t help but feel pleased at how breathless he sounded. “I’d like to fuck you.”

Crowley just stared up at him for a moment. This was Heaven, surely. All was forgiven and he was welcomed back through the pearly gates with open arms. Because there was no other way that he had heard those words come from Aziraphale’s mouth.

“What?” was all he could manage to say.

“I said-“

Aziraphale pulled him to his feet, leaning in to press a kiss to his jaw.

“-I’d like to fuck you. If you don’t mind.”

Crowley immediately shook his head. “No. Not at all.”

Aziraphale smiled, and Crowley felt completely helpless to stop him. As if he would ever want to. But before he could give it another thought, Aziraphale was helping them both out of the rest of their clothing.

He led Crowley to bed by the hand, and suddenly the reality of what was happening hit him like a slap in the face. When had the tables turned on him? Just a moment ago, he had Aziraphale all but eating out of the palm of his hand, and now here he was, doing the same.

“Are you sure-” he started, trying to find the words as he watched Aziraphale sit down next to him. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Quite sure, dear,” Aziraphale answered, and the tone of his voice sounded sincere.

Crowley swallowed, gathering the courage to ask another question.

“How do you want me?” he asked in a whisper, and only then did he notice that he was trembling again.

Aziraphale responded by getting himself comfortable by the headboard and patting his thigh.

Crowley was certain that he was about to discorporate any second now. He crawled up the bed, tentatively placing himself in Aziraphale’s lap.

Aziraphale reached up, pulling the length of black ribbon free from Crowley’s hair. With nothing to hold it in place anymore, it tumbled over his shoulders, framing his face. Aziraphale gently tucked a lock behind Crowley’s ear.

“You really are beautiful, dear,” he murmured.

Crowley tried to hide the involuntary whine that escaped his throat at that, but judging by Aziraphale’s face, it was a pointless effort. He’d heard it.

“You are,” he said as he slid a hand around the back of Crowley’s neck, pulling him close to kiss him again.

Crowley planted both hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders as he kissed him back. Aziraphale’s free hand had begun to wander, down Crowley’s chest, his stomach, tracing little lines across his skin. Crowley’s hips gave an involuntary jerk as Aziraphale’s hand wrapped around his cock, stroking him slowly as they kissed.

Crowley couldn’t count how many times he’d thought about this very moment, about having Aziraphale as he did right now, touching him, kissing him as he was. If he hadn’t already been damned, he certainly would have been for thinking such things about an angel. But then he was quickly beginning to realise that that very same angel wasn’t any purer than him, as it turned out.

It wasn’t long before Crowley was beginning to grow desperate. His entire body felt wound tight as a spring, and he knew if he didn’t say something, it would all be over far too soon.

He pushed himself back, breaking the kiss.

“What is it, darling? Tell me,” Aziraphale murmured, his hand still moving languidly.

Crowley bit back a moan, moving his hips along with Aziraphale’s strokes.

“I need- Need you- Please,” was all he could manage.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Aziraphale murmured, pressing a chaste kiss to Crowley’s mouth.

He moved both of his hands to rest on Crowley’s hips, pulling him further forward into his lap. Crowley reached a hand between them, wasting no time in lining himself up with Aziraphale’s cock and sinking down onto it.

He was sure one little demonic miracle wouldn’t do either of them any harm. He never did have much patience, and he didn’t think Aziraphale would mind much at this point.

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows anyway.

“Eager, aren’t you?” he asked, and Crowley could tell by his tone that he knew.

“Seems a bit stupid, going to a gentlemen’s club unprepared, you know?” he replied.

And really, it was only half a lie.

Aziraphale said no more. Couldn’t, not without breaking the illusion. Besides, Crowley knew all too well that he wasn’t stupid enough to do that, not with the position they were both currently in.

There was a pause, a lingering silence between them, when all they could do was look at each other. And then Crowley began to move, rising and falling in Aziraphale’s lap as strong hands gripped his hips.

“Look at you,” Aziraphale murmured as his breaths quickened. “Such a pretty thing.”

Crowley managed a shaky laugh.

“‘m alright,” he said, cut off by a moan as Aziraphale squeezed his hips.

“You’re more than that, I assure you,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley wanted to argue, felt compelled to, but it all felt too good, and he could barely think, let alone talk. He closed his eyes, letting himself focus on every sensation, every touch. It was almost too much for him.

“You _are_ going to come for me, aren’t you, dear?” Aziraphale asked softly.

Crowley opened his mouth to answer when Aziraphale’s hand was on his cock again, moving in time with his hips, and all he could do was nod, hair falling over his face.

“Good boy,” Aziraphale murmured, pulling him down for a kiss that was all tongue and teeth.

It would have taken a miracle for Crowley to last any longer. With a shudder, he came, holding onto Aziraphale as if his life depended on it as the angel soon found his own release alongside him.

Crowley slumped against Aziraphale, the only sounds in the room their breathing as they tried to collect themselves. Eventually he pushed himself upright, unceremoniously flopping down onto the bed. Aziraphale lay down next to him. If Crowley noticed that they were both suddenly cleaned up, he certainly wasn’t about to say anything.

“Suppose I should go now, right?” he asked, staring at the ceiling, suddenly feeling very shy.

He knew Aziraphale was looking at him, but he couldn’t bear to bring himself to do the same. He hated this part. The temptation itself was easy, it was the after that always drove him crazy.

“Only if you want to, darling,” Aziraphale murmured, gently sweeping a lock of hair from Crowley’s forehead. “I certainly wouldn’t mind keeping your company for a little while longer.”

Crowley forced himself to meet Aziraphale’s gaze. Those warm eyes, watching him with such affection brought back that feeling from before. The one that made him want to pluck the very stars from the sky, just for him.

“Sure you haven’t any other plans for the night?” he asked, partly to distract himself, partly for reassurance.

Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

“I’m quite sure. Besides, I rather think you’ve tempted me away from any further plans tonight,” he said.

Crowley laughed. That was more than enough reassurance for him.

“The night’s still young...” he said coyly, with just enough of a suggestion in his tone.

Aziraphale leaned in to kiss him, and that was all the answer Crowley needed.

It would be years yet before they would talk about what had happened, but Anthony and Ernest, well, neither of them had anything to apologise for.


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe the ending of the last chapter was enough, but I woke up this morning with the urge to wrap this story up in some way.

-A century and a half or so later-

Sometime after the Not-Quite-Apocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale found themselves cozied up in the back room of the bookshop, a glass of wine each in hand. Aziraphale’s old gramophone whirred away quietly in the background, alternating between classical and the occasional Queen song.

Crowley had his head in Aziraphale’s lap, trying not to fall asleep as Aziraphale trailed his fingers through his hair.

After everything that had happened, it seemed silly for them not to admit how they felt. And now that they had Upstairs and Downstairs off their backs, as least for the time being, they were free to do as they liked.

Aziraphale was the first to crack. They were barely home (for the bookshop was home to Crowley now too) ten minutes after their lunch at the Ritz when he was confessing everything, all in one breath, as if he was afraid that Crowley would disappear right in front of his eyes.

Crowley had just laughed and kissed him.

They’d talked into the night (among other things, of course), and now they were practically inseparable. Aziraphale had moved things around in his little flat above the bookshop to accommodate Crowley’s belongings. Each room had something to both of their tastes, and strangely it all seemed to work together (although Aziraphale made a point of complaining about Crowley’s “throne” at least once a week).

There was no interference, no disappearing for years at a time. Just them, on their own side. Their own little paradise.

The last notes of the gramophone’s song faded out, and the room fell into silence.

“I’ll sort it,” Crowley said after an extended pause. “It’s my turn anyway.”

He stretched his long limbs, setting his empty glass aside as he stood up. The gramophone was tucked just out of the way, in a little corner of the room that he’d never really paid attention to, in all his years of pretending to darken Aziraphale’s door.

He had a look around as he fiddled with the gramophone. There was books everywhere, as to be expected from Aziraphale, but one in particular caught his eye. A copy of ‘The Importance of Being Earnest’.

Crowley smiled to himself as he reverently touched the cover. It was funny, after all these years, neither of them had spoken of that night (or the handful of nights thereafter) in the gentlemen’s club. They really were far too stubborn for their good.

In the beginning, Crowley could never understand why they couldn’t just admit who they were, have their talk and be done with it. But he soon came to realise that he had always been a little further ahead than Aziraphale.

Still, surely no harm would come of talking about it now.

With the gramophone in working order again, Crowley went back to his place of half on the sofa, half in Aziraphale’s lap.

“Everything alright, dear?” Aziraphale asked.

“Tickety-boo,” Crowley replied, and Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“It’s a perfectly good expression,” he muttered for the umpteenth time.

“If you say so, angel.”

Crowley manoeuvred himself onto his front, looking up at Aziraphale.

“Can I ask you something?”

“I suppose you just did,” Aziraphale replied, and now it was Crowley’s turn to roll his eyes. “What is it, dear?”

“Do you ever think about Anthony and Ernest?”

Crowley never had been one for building up to things. One of his endearing little quirks that was going to push Aziraphale’s vessel to a heart attack one of these centuries.

Aziraphale paused for a moment.

“I do, from time to time,” he replied with a little smile. “In fact, I have a lot to thank those two for.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Really? What for?”

Aziraphale touched a hand briefly to Crowley’s face. “For bringing you back to me, even for just a little while.”

After the whole incident in 1941, they’d talked as Crowley had driven Aziraphale home. Neither of them had apologised, but they'd both explained their side of things in such a way that no apologies were needed.

“In fact...” Aziraphale began, thinking for a moment. “I do still have the mask, if I remember correctly.”

“Sentimental old sod,” Crowley teased, but he felt that familiar little flutter in his stomach all the same.

“It was expensive,” Aziraphale argued, but he consigned himself to another eye roll when he realised that Crowley was just trying to wind him up.

“Maybe it’s about time they met again,” Crowley said, in a tone close to suggestion. “After all they did for us, seems only fair.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Aziraphale replied, with a smile.

“When am I not?” Crowley asked, as he turned over to lay his head in Aziraphale’s lap again.

Anthony and Ernest did eventually pay each other another visit, and both agreed that the upstairs flat of the bookshop in Soho was far better than the gentlemen’s club had been. After all, it was their very own little secret place. And none of them, not Anthony and Ernest, nor Crowley and Aziraphale, would ever take that for granted.

**Author's Note:**

> These two are the most stubborn people on the planet, and I love them dearly. I have a few more AUs that I'd like to try, mainly Ineffable Wives and a Masters of Sex idea that's been floating around in my head for a while. I have no idea if there's any real interest for that sort of thing, but I'll see how writing it goes.
> 
> My writing Tumblr is [@maybeishouldwritesomething](https://maybeishouldwritesomething.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to send a request or message. As always, thank you for reading!


End file.
